The Dragon Keeper's Survival Guide
by DarkRiverTempest
Summary: "This isn't the wizarding world I grew up in. It's not even close."  With Snape's guidance, Charlie finds out what it means to truly care for someone and how to do the right thing, even if it breaks his heart.
1. Chapter 1

Written for Curia_Regis at the Charlie Fic-A-Thon on Live Journal. **Usual disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling owns everything Harry Potter and is a millionaire because of it. I make nada from creating dystopian societies for her characters to run amuck in.

* * *

I wish I could tell you this was the wizarding world I grew up in.

But it's not. It's not even close.

And it isn't just our world; it's the whole damn place, wizarding and Muggle alike.

I wish I could say that I'd contributed to the war effort, other than recruiting foreign wizards and witches, but several months before things came to a head, the reserve had come down with a nasty case of dragon pox. The whole reserve had been quarantined, even though I'd been given the cure—or what Harry liked to call 'vaccination'—at St Mungo's before I'd started my work with the dragons, to avoid such a thing. Mostly, I'd ran around taking care of the dragons _and_ the keepers.

I learnt about the fall of Voldemort six months ago, and almost since the end of the second war, we'd been reduced to communicating via Muggle means, like calling on telephones or knocking on a person's door. The last time someone had tried to Floo into another person's house, they had apparently ended up as nosh for _something_, or so I'd heard from Caleb, the crew chief, who was the only other keeper that hadn't got sick. He'd got an owl from his family, telling him not to Floo, Apparate, or Portkey home... just in case. That had been two months earlier. He hadn't heard from them since, as far as I'm aware.

I'd tried owling Mum around the same time but I'd yet to hear anything from England by the time I left. The silence was unusual, especially for Molly Weasley. She's the nosiest woman on the planet, and if I told her I suspected something ran afoul, you can bet your last Knut she'd be on my arse like a Seeker on a Snitch to find out more.

That was why I left the reserve that day. Because I couldn't stand not knowing what was going on out there. Our miniscule community was extremely isolated, what with the dragons and all, so, little information was filtered to us from the outside world. In fact, I was one of the last keepers to leave the compound. Most everyone else had left to see to their families or loved ones after the quarantine had been lifted eight weeks earlier, or at least the isolation shield had fallen without warning. I'd stayed only because I'd known my family could take care of themselves, and I would probably have been underfoot in a house full of Weasley spawn. Plus, who would've taken care of the dragons? Not that I put animals before people—though they are easier to understand sometimes—but I honestly didn't think I made a difference in the world as a whole, just in my little corner of it.

I'd packed the essentials in my rucksack, as I planned on travelling light. I'd thought about flying, but there weren't any brooms there, and the closest wizarding village was near Bucharest—a good three-day journey on foot in the opposite direction from where I was headed. Besides, I'm used to being in constant motion, so it wouldn't be a hardship to walk for many miles a day... I hoped. At least I had my wand: Reed, nine and a half, a length of Centaur hair within. My previous one had been destroyed by a breeding Ukrainian Ironbelly, and I'd reluctantly let her eat it instead of me.

How Ollivander had been able to procure the Centaur hair, I'll never know, but I don't think I want to ask him about it. He's been off his game ever since his imprisonment with the Dark Lord. I think he started using several unorthodox cores, and it shows from all the backfired spells that I've heard about just after the war. I had been extremely lucky I'd got a wand that responded immediately without a hitch, since I'd ordered it via owl-post. A most unusual method of procuring one, I know, but I had been too preoccupied to travel. As far as I know, it's the only one he made with the possibly pilfered hair. I'd thought at times about finding a local wand-maker, but even at his barmiest, Ollivander outdid them all.

As I stood at the edge of the normal barrier that shielded the reserve from Muggle eyes, I took one last look around me, searing the image in the back of my mind, a visual reminder that said, "Charlie Weasley was here." I loved being a dragon-keeper. It wasn't a glorious job; in fact, it was downright lethal on the best of days.

But it was mine.

* * *

Three weeks later, I was in Budapest.

What. The. Fucking. Hell!

I finally camped down for the night in an abandoned barn that had some hay left inside. At least, I hoped it was for the duration of the night. One could never tell those days. Casting a _Homenum Revelio_ did nothing; those things didn't show up as alive, though they were very clearly moving, snarling, and... well, the best way to describe them was "consuming." They ate anything that had a pulse.

What were _they_? Good question. They looked like a cross between Inferi and Zombies. Maybe a hybrid? Hell if I knew. I'd never heard of an Inferius eating a person's flesh, but then again, I didn't know if they had ever been used in that capacity; their overwhelming numbers had always been what had made them useful. Zombies, on the other hand, were indiscriminate in their tastes—as in, they had none. They'd gnaw on anything, but they couldn't be controlled. So what the fuck had been chasing me across two countries?

They were doggedly persistent, that was for sure, so it was a good thing that I was in shape and clever or I would've been on the menu long ago. And casting just any spell wouldn't stop them—it had to be a powerful one, like Fiendfyre. Otherwise, you were reduced to having to sever or destroy the head. Slice off their legs, and they still crawled after you. Lop off their arms, and they tried to kick you to death. But decapitate them, and they dropped like a loadstone.

I'd emptied my stomach on the remains the first time I did it. After the fifteenth one, I actually became rather ruthless and creative in dispatching them. It soon became apparent that it was a case of kill-or-be-eaten, while still alive.

Just before I'd passed into Cluj-Napoca, a day and a half into my journey, I'd started noticing that the small villages along the way had been deserted, in shambles, and in some cases, even burnt to ash. I'd poked my head into one căsuţă, or house, and seen a huddled figure rocking back and forth next to a decomposing body. The figure hadn't been aware of my presence at first, because I'd stared at the scene for several minutes before the person—and I use that term loosely—had turned and caught me in its opaque gaze. I could only assume _it_ used to be a female, for it had all the necessary equipment, though what it did have was misshapen and rotting like a corpse's.

When the creature had stopped rocking, the dark red curls that hung to my shoulders had literally felt like they were standing on end. They'd gone positively straight when the creature had risen and started to approach me. The stench alone had made me gag, and I'd backed away hastily. A growl, like a cross between a banshee's shrill and a dragon's bellow, had issued from its mouth, and that had been my cue to leave in short order.

I'd run, as fast as I'd been able to, firing off hexes and curses of any kind that I could think of, but nothing had slowed my pursuer. In fact, I think the only thing that had saved me had been the Canalul Morilor, the body of water that runs through the centre of Cluj. She'd tried to follow me across but had been swept away by the current. Wet, shivering, and bloody cold once I'd reached the other side, I'd quickly made my way to Bánffy Castle in Bonţida. I'd known it had been abandoned, so I'd taken shelter in the nave of the reformed church located there. It had been considered consecrated holy ground, and I'd figured I could use all the help I could get.

That night I'd barely slept. Every little noise had caused me to startle, and I know I'd thrown several curses into the dark area behind the choir loft, but nothing had stirred. Well, nothing lethal, leastways. In the morning, I'd ached as if a Peruvian Vipertooth had trampled my body. I'd tried some stretching exercises to limber up but I had to admit to myself that I really wasn't in that good of a shape if a two-day journey had me feeling decrepit. I'd cast a Healing Charm to see if it would help, but all it had done had been to create an unnerving tingle that had raced along my skin. No, thank you. I'd had enough of that to last me a lifetime.

After determining that it was safe, I'd made my way off the grounds of the castle and headed towards Oradea, which is near the Romania-Hungary border. It had taken me almost two weeks to get there, as there were mountains and many miles of thick forest to traverse. I'd shied away from the Muggle roadways, because they'd seemingly drawn the creatures like those Muggle magnets dad was always so fascinated with. I'd seen more than one bloodied pavement along the way, and I hoped to Merlin that it had been one of those creatures and not a human, though I knew my hopes were in vain.

When I'd reached Oradea, after several close calls and one near bite, I'd been forced to travel on the paved road because the forest had become too dense and inhospitable. While I'd walked alongside the metal rail that ran beside the pavement, my eyes had constantly darted between the woods and the visible road ahead. During one of those scans, I'd spied a large piece of polished wood protruding from the boot of an automobile and I'd dared to get closer.

Upon further inspection, I'd noticed it had a slim handle and a wide paddle body, like an oversized Qudditch Bludger bat. Hefting it, I'd realised that if I swung it, there was enough weight behind it that it would send anything in its trajectory flying backwards several metres. I'd had to have it. That it had fit into my rucksack had been a bonus.

Village after town after city had been either empty or full of the dark things. I'd soon learned to keep as quiet as possible; they'd seemed attracted to noise, much like to a dinner bell ringing. I'd jogged as much as I could, to remain agile. I'd strengthened my arms with the paddle contraption I'd found, by swinging it in wide arcs. It had proven to be very useful shortly after I'd appropriated it.

I'd taken to calling the creatures Zombiferi, since they had traits of both. Crossing into Berettyóújfalu, a town in the Northern Great Plain region of eastern Hungary, I'd come across several of the Zombiferi, feasting on what looked like the majority of what had been the town's inhabitants. Of course, I'd taken a running charge at them. Stupid, I know, but I think in that case it was better to be on the offensive instead of waiting around for them to use my shin bone as a toothpick.

The first 'victim' had roared towards me and I'd popped off his head like a bloated blood boil, with the same results of sticky goo. For some reason, it had made me grin. I took to incapacitating them like a Goblin takes to accumulating money: quick, efficient and creating a large pile. For all their ferociousness, they hadn't been that smart or organized, which sometimes defeated the advantage their number gave them. Occasionally, they'd just been too numerous, and I would try to sneak around them or just flee as if the Dark Lord himself were chasing me. After I'd dispatched them all, I'd stood in the middle of a deserted road, drenched in blood, gore—and, oh, dear Merlin, had that been an _eye_ sticking to the wooden board? I'd become sick once again. Like I said, it took quite a few times before I became desensitised to the fact I was... what? Killing? Murdering? Visiting a mercy upon recently damned souls? I didn't know what to call what I was doing. To me, it was survival, but I don't think laughing maniacally after a point was considered key to my continued endurance.

Working with the dragons had been nothing like that. The dragons had been peace and harmony, like the Muggle philosophy of Zen; I'd found my centre, my balance, while working on the reserve. Now, I suffered a major paradigm shift beyond any rational thought. I still don't know if I've completely dealt with it, but I'm focused on getting back to my family, so I really don't have time to think about it.

When I finally made it to Budapest, I was bone-weary and I know I had a wild look about me. My hair was a bit scraggly, I'd lost weight, and I was extremely paranoid. With my wand in one hand and my heavy wooden paddle in the other, I was definitely one normal humans—the rare few that I'd encountered—shied away from.

I guess it didn't help that the one tattoo I bare spans the length of my body and is fearsome to behold: a Hebridean Black dragon, its tail wrapped around my right thigh, calf and ankle. The body and wings cover my right hip, arse, torso and shoulder. Its neck winds around my own, only to have its wide, toothy smile firmly in place on my right cheek. It had taken a year to complete, and having it magically inked had fucking hurt. I wouldn't trade it for the world. But to strangers, I suppose I look a bit freakish, more like an old Celtic god, hell-bent on destruction.

Mum hasn't seen me in since before the war. I wonder what she'll think...

It was a bit of a relief that I found that empty barn on the outskirts of Normafa in the Buda Hills. Autumn was approaching, but, while the array of colours was fascinating, I took little joy in the changing of the seasons. In a moment of idle vanity, I spelled the coarse stubble on my face into what I hoped was a stylish goatee, not that I had a mirror to check, mind you. It itched like hell-fire anyways. I didn't bother casting any spells to see if there were any inhabitants—it looked like it hadn't had any in years—before I settled down for a bit of light sleep. I was just closing my eyes when an uneasy feeling crept up my spine. In hindsight, a spell would've alerted me to the other presence deep within the shadows, but I'd grown a bit too arrogant in my ability to survive thus far.

It wasn't the footsteps that woke me, for there weren't any. Nor was it any kind of rustling amongst the stale hay that littered the place.

It was the forceful prod of a wand tip aimed right between my eyes that had me cringing internally.

"Well, Mister Weasley," drawled the familiar baritone of Severus Snape. "Fancy meeting you here."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything Harry Potter and makes the money. I just play with her characters on the weekends.

* * *

Even in the low light, I could tell that my former Potions professor had changed drastically. I mean, I hadn't really seen much of him since leaving Hogwarts, other than at the odd Order meeting that I had attended. Those times, Snape had been rigid—both in emotions and stance—thin, wary, and had a permanent scowl etched on his face. Oh, he still looked like that, as I came to see when I glanced up into his dark visage, but all of those things were personified so that he looked as gaunt and disturbing as the creatures that hunted us.

_Us_. Wait. What was he doing there?

"Cat got your tongue?" he asked maliciously, and I could tell he had a sneer on his face.

"Just trying to decide if you're one of _them_."

He snorted. "_Mors Viscus_?" Then he did something very peculiar. He unbuttoned his left sleeve and rolled it up to reveal a hideous scar that ran from the bottom of his wrist to the indent of his elbow. His whole forearm was nearly devoid of flesh; only marred skin and bone remained. "I sabotaged the final curse before it began... at least in me."

He retrained his wand between my eyes. I tilted my head towards it. "Do you mind?"

"Yes." The wand didn't move. "Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same question." Slowly, I wrapped my fingers around his right wrist and moved his hand away, standing afterwards. "It makes sense that I'm here. Well, not here per se, but in this region."

"Dragon reserve—yes, I know." Snape still kept his wand at the ready. "But why are you here, in Normafa?"

I pointed between him and me. "I could ask you the same thing. You have no business here that I know of."

His lips thinned in agitation. Good. "If you must know, my only remaining relative lives..." He faltered at this and I glimpsed a deep sadness that faded in the next second. "Lived," he corrected. "My great uncle _lived_ here. Until recently."

Nodding, I wrapped my arms around my body, for there was a chill in the air and my jeans, tee shirt, and flannel over-shirt weren't that warm. "What happened to him?"

He snorted mirthlessly. "Probably one of the _Mors_ now. I didn't stay to watch."

"The _Mors_?" I'd always referred to them as Zombiferi. Maybe he knew more? "What are they?"

He seemed to be on the verge of telling me, when he abruptly turned his head towards the entrance to the dilapidated barn. "Something's coming." He glanced back to the bales of hay and grimaced. "They'll find us if we hide."

I was about to suggest we leave, but he surprised me by wrapping his arms securely around me. I have to admit I struggled, but only for a moment, because in the blink of an eye we were airborne. Clinging to him in sheer terror seemed like a better idea.

The air was frigid as we whisked over forests and deserted motorways. My teeth were chattering; I was so cold. Snape must've heard them, or felt me shaking, for in the next instance a Warming Charm had spread to encompass us both. I would've told him how grateful I was, but I didn't want him to drop me for being impertinent.

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask how he could literally _fly_ without the aid of a broom, but again I found that question better left for when my feet were firmly on the ground. I'm not afraid of flying, quite the contrary—I do... well, did it all the time with my dragons—but with a wizard and no broom it's a unique experience.

I didn't know how long, or far, we had flown, but I could feel him falter in his grip around my stomach. I had to restrain myself from wrapping my legs around his waist to compensate. There's no telling what he would've done to me if I did. Probably hex my bollocks off, and that's just for starters.

I became extremely worried when my feet started occasionally hitting the top of one tree or another. At that point, I figured I'd rather face his wrath than end up with a tree limb embedded in my arse.

Reaching up, I grabbed his neck as best I could with one hand and yelled, "We need to land!"

There was no verbal response, but he nodded and scanned the area below for a suitable place. Apparently he found something, because he banked off to the left, finally landing without a hitch near an opulent man-made pool that spanned nearly the entire length of the structure beside it.

Releasing my other hand's death-grip on his frock coat, I moved away to collapse on the grass. "You need to warn a bloke before you do something like that."

"Like what?" He dusted himself off and peered into the building, its interior visible to those outside due to the floor-to-ceiling glass covering the exterior.

"Taking off like a bat..." Damn.

It was interesting, watching his lip curl into a sneer. "Like a bat of the dungeons, Mister Weasley?"

"I don't suppose you could call me Charlie?"

"I do have that capability. Whether I choose to employ it is another matter."

Prat.

I stood on shaky legs and looked into the pool at the green marble flooring. There were lights that shone into the water, their verdant tones glinting across anything that came near. It was idly mesmerising.

"I don't sense anything nearby. It may be safe to stay here, at least for this evening," Snape said as he started walking to the right. Soon, he disappeared around a corner.

"Damn it." Bugger couldn't even wait for me. Hopping off the concrete dais, I followed him and came to a halt not far from where he stood. "Abacus Wellness and Business Hotel," I read the sign overhead. "We must be in Herceghalom."

"Still in Hungary," Snape muttered. He glanced around and then cautiously pushed the doors to the hotel open.

The lobby was empty of staff and patrons. We didn't dare make any noise, at least not at first. We crept past the reception area, which was decorated in earth tones, and scouted out the rooms on the first floor. There was a lounge, a spa, a restaurant—which I would have to remember to visit shortly—and a cordoned-off area where the actual hotel chambers were located.

Lights were still shining, so I had to wonder if the place had been attacked already. I didn't see any bodies or blood, nor had we attracted any of the creatures with our movements, that I knew of. When I glanced over at Snape to ask him his theories, I was taken aback. I knew he was pale, but bloody hell! He looked positively ashen in the light beaming down upon him. I even noticed a slight tremor in his hands as he held his wand aloft in front of him.

"Snape?" I whispered urgently.

He glared at me over his shoulder. "What?"

"You should rest... and eat."

"Typical Weasley." He tsk'd. "Mortal danger lies before us, and you're thinking with your stomach."

"You're a bastard!"

"That's all you can come up with?" He sniffed with disdain. "They used to say you were the smartest spawn of the ginger bunch, next to William. What happened? Do you miss your mummy?"

I didn't care that he was looking sickly. I didn't particularly care that he'd probably saved my life back in Normafa. No one insults my family. Balling my hands into fists, I charged at him.

Now, I admit to having a bit of a temper. I go from serene to seething in a split second. Heated words, loud shouting, bare-fisted fighting—it gets rid of the aggression—and then I canter off in a different direction and forget all about it. It's over as quickly as it began. Most of the times, I just punch a hole in a wall or something along those lines. But I'd never before hit a person... ever.

And then I knew why. The moment my knuckles connected with Snape's cheek, enormous and overwhelming guilt flooded through me. What the hell was wrong with me? I was fucking mortified! I winced in remorse when I noticed the purple bruise swell just under his left eye.

He worked his jaw back and forth, his gaze narrowed and menacing. "Feel better?"

My mouth hung open. "Feel better? I just hit you! How is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Touching his injured cheek with the tips of his fingers, Snape harrumphed. "From the moment I found you, you've been anxious with pent up emotion. In order to survive this plague, you can't go around half-cocked, so-to-speak. I provoked you into releasing a great deal of that energy, though I happened to be in the way." He crossed his arms with a smug look. "So, I ask you again... feel better?"

I was caught between gratitude and frustration. I did indeed feel much lighter than I had before the outburst, but there was no way in Hades I was going to tell him that. He was arrogant enough as it was, no need to compound the problem. However, I knew he would smirk at me knowingly until I answered, so I relented. "A little," I said begrudgingly.

Thankfully, he found that acceptable enough. "Check behind the main desk to see if there are any room keys."

"Why not use _Alohomora_?"

"I have found that using magic draws their attention, as if they are seeking it out." He pocketed his own wand. "I use it defensively, and never if not absolutely necessary."

I shrugged and did as he ordered, eventually finding several keys that corresponded with room numbers on the first floor.

"When did you know you could fly?" I asked out of curiosity as we searched the rooms.

Peering into one of the chambers, he lifted his rather large nose and inhaled deeply. "This hotel has been vacant for some time," he pronounced, side-stepping the question. "We can restock our supplies and rest for a short while."

There was something exceedingly odd about him. I mean, odder than usual. First, he'd found me in the most unlikely of places. Visiting his family—that much I can accept. Then, he'd grabbed me and we'd flown off. Other than the nut-numbing experience of hanging on for dear life, I could deal with that, as well. No, what unnerved me was his ability to tell if those _things_ were near or if they were coming. How did he know?

"You think too much," he mumbled. We entered the room, and he sat down on the white duvet that covered one of the beds.

"According to you, I let my stomach rule," I chided him. I wanted to be just as nasty as he had been, but his weary countenance stilled my tongue—a near impossible feat.

He nodded and let himself fall backwards to land on the chocolate brown coverlet. "And since you do, I think it more than adequate that you be the one to locate us some nourishment."

I watched him close his eyes and lay his hands on his chest in a death-like repose. It was eerie and beautiful at the same time. I don't know how long I stood and stared at him like that, but the clearing of his throat brought me out of my reverie.

"Gazing upon my princely visage will not gain us needed sustenance," he said impatiently without opening his eyes.

I shook my head and left the room in search of food.

When I returned to the room, arms laden with foodstuffs, I quietly opened the door and deposited my cache on a nearby table. While I was gone, Snape had moved up on the bed and was curled into a feotal position, his breathing somewhat shallow. I went to the side of the bed and knelt down. His face was pasty white with a slight sheen of perspiration coating his skin. The inky locks that were normally lank were plastered against his head. Without thought, I tucked them behind his ear.

Bleary eyes opened slowly, and Snape gave me a small smile—a sure sign he was delirious.

"When is the last time you had a proper meal?" I asked.

"About two days before I found you," he wheezed. "My great uncle needed to be dealt with, and food was not paramount in my mind." His lungs sounded clogged, and when I touched his skin it felt feverish.

I know I had to be frowning, for he did the most unusual thing. Raising his right hand, he smoothed the furrow on my brow with his thumb in an affectionate manner. I was afraid to pull away, but in a sense, I didn't want to. There was nothing sexual in the gesture, not that that would've bothered me. I'm an equal opportunity lover, be it male or female that catches my fancy. I didn't think Snape was capable of showing any kind of warmth towards another human being, however, so this took me by surprise.

He continued to caress the worry lines, murmuring melodic words in a low tone that I'd never heard before. I was so entranced by the lull he created, it was several minutes before I realised that he'd stopped, and the feverish gleam had faded.

"Do you think you can stand some soup? You need to rehydrate."

After he nodded, I stood and rummaged through the stash I'd collected, finding a tin of tomato soup and a package of thin digestives. I had to return to the kitchens to fetch the bowls and tea-stuff that I'd forgotten—I'd been used to roughing it on the reserve, so they had completely slipped my mind—and set about to heat the soup via a Bluebell flame. It was small and targeted only the soup, so I didn't think Snape would grouse about it.

The soup warmed up, I poured it into a mug so that Snape could drink it instead of having to use a spoon. By the time I was done, he was propped up against the headboard, the duvet pulled up to his chest.

"Here. Careful." I wrapped his hands around the mug and stayed beside him until I was sure he wouldn't spill it. I couldn't help but smile when he closed his eyes in what looked like ecstasy upon swallowing his first few sips.

"You're a tolerable cook, Charles."

"Charles?" I could feel my mouth screwing up in a moue of disgust. Only my mother called me _Charles_, and only when I was in trouble. "Charlie," I corrected.

He arched a lone brow, and his lips quirked. "Charles," he repeated before taking a long drink.

I stuffed a digestive biscuit in my mouth to keep from snarling at him. As I chewed and watched him savour his soup, I thought it safe to ask him some more pointed questions. "When did you learn you could fly?" I said trying to keep the crumbs from spewing out.

The cup halted halfway to his lips. "When I met the Dark Lord," he responded hesitantly.

"How old were you?" I quaffed some of the honeyed mead I'd found in one of the temperature-controlled rooms in the back of the kitchen. To be honest, I was beyond amazed that he was answering any of my questions.

"Seventeen," he whispered. "He sensed potential and took me under his wing. Literally."

"He taught you how to fly?"

He nodded. "And _other_ things."

I sat to his left on the bed and glanced at his arm. "What happened here?" I tapped his forearm.

Instantly, he became stiff and pulled away from me. "None of your concern."

"Considering I'm the only person around for over a hundred miles that has a coherent thought in his head, I thought you might trust me and tell me what's happened to you."

"Your worry for my welfare is touching, really," he spat and buried his nose in the mug.

"Don't be a git." I munched on another digestive. "How long were you in Normafa?"

Though he had a mutinous expression his face, Snape answered, "Two weeks."

"And before?"

"In England... what's left of it."

Dear god, _no_. Not home, too! "What's happened to everyone?"

A look of regret and shame fill his eyes. "We happened."

"We?"

"The Death Eaters," he clarified after a long silence.

When no further explanation seemed forthcoming, I ground out, "Elaborate."

"When the Dark Lord fell, he activated his last and most fearsome curse upon his followers. It was the one he'd been saving, in the event of his loss." At that, he set his mug on the bedside table and rolled up his left sleeve again. "I had the rare opportunity to know what was coming, and I prepared."

There was no sinew, no visible muscle of any kind left on his forearm. He had apparently carved off his Dark Mark, taking a large portion of his arm with it. All that was left was scarred and gnarled flesh covering a stick-thin limb. It was a wonder he had any function at all in his hand.

"Barely," he answered as if hearing my thoughts. "I can't grip anything and can only perform the simplest of tasks with it."

"Why did you complain about me touching it earlier?"

"I'll show or tell you things when I think them pertinent, not before then."

"So, if you have a spell that would disarm one of those things, you'll wait until it's eaten half of my neck and shoulder before you'll tell me, is that it?"

Snape retrieved his mug and smirked against the rim. "Possibly."

I shouldn't have been surprised. "Possibly?"

"I would wait until it ate a portion of your bicep before imparting such wisdom."

"Don't do me any favours," I snorted. Getting up, I rummaged through the provisions I had procured, to see if there was anything more substantial than biscuits.

"There is one spell that might be useful," I heard him say quietly.

Since he was a stubborn git and prone to work according to his own whims, I remained silent instead of immediately asking what that spell might be. When five minutes had passed between his mentioning the spell and actually telling me, I knew I had done the right thing.

"I created a slicing hex when I was a student at Hogwarts. In past weeks, it has proved useful in slowing the _Mors'_ movements, if not incapacitating them altogether."

"Why didn't you just use it in Normafa, when we were trapped in the barn?"

His eyes shuttered almost immediately and it put me on edge. "My magic has suffered in the past few days." He stroked the side of the mug with a long finger, the action soothing and mesmerising in turn. "I find that if I cast a spell, I don't have enough energy to complete another in quick succession. I chose the avenue of greatest potential outcome. Had I cast _Sectumsempra_, and there had been more than one or two of those creatures, we would not have escaped. Removing our presence from the scene seemed more logical."

"_Sectumsempra_?"

He nodded. "_Mors Viscus_ can neither feel the gashes inflicted upon them by the spell, nor lose any blood from the cuts, but they can be slowed should they lose a limb, such as a leg."

I was thoroughly and morbidly fascinated with the topic now. "What are they?"

"As I said before, they are _us_." He drank the last of his soup and handed me the mug. "Those bearing the Dark Mark were _infected_ with the Dark Lord's last curse, the last effort at ridding the world of filthy Muggles. The moment he died, the Mark began to fester, to seep into the blood, spreading its muck throughout the veins of those it inhabited."

I couldn't help but glance at his arm again. "How do you know if you..." I just pointed to his fleshless limb.

That shuttered looked entered his eyes again. "I knew it would happen, having overheard a conversation the Dark Lord had with Fenrir Greyback towards the end, so I did this—" He clasped his forearm. "—and conjured a glamour in the interim until I could find out the specifics." Snape frowned as he stared at the wall behind me. "I have first-hand knowledge of the effects because I was there when it took over Draco Malfoy."

My eyes widened; I know they did. I'd forgotten the Malfoy heir had received the Mark. Well, not really. I mean, I knew Lucius Malfoy had, everyone did, but I didn't think he'd force his only child to succumb to that... that...

"Monster," Snape whispered. He touched his mouth with trembling fingers.

I'd observed Severus Snape in many situations—bad, terrible, and downright too horrible to comprehend—but his reactions at that moment were scaring the shite right out of me. "What happened?"

At first, I didn't think he'd tell me, for which, given the subject matter, I wouldn't blame him. But he did. And afterwards, I wished he hadn't.

"I have no recollection of where Lucius Malfoy was at the time, but Draco was near me on the battlefield." Snape sat up a little and lowered his head, his long hair obscuring his face. "I remember him collapsing, inhuman screaming coming from him as he clawed at his arm." He wiped his hand over his face and shuddered. "His body became rigid, as if he were being Crucio'd, repeatedly. His screams never stopped until he damaged his vocal cords and started coughing up blood."

Though I didn't want him to stop telling the story, I did notice that it was very painful for him to recall the incident. Hoping to ease the shivers now wracking Snape's body, I rose from the bedside and fixed a cup of tea, handing it to him after depositing cream and sugar into it.

He accepted it without hesitation.

"Draco's eyes changed first," he commented before sipping from the cup. He blew out a pent up breath after he swallowed. "Where they were once grey and arrogant, they were now milky, clouded over, as if the colour had disappeared altogether. He was in my arms at the time his struggles had ceased. When he turned his head towards me, I called his name, but he didn't respond. By that time, I knew the Dark Lord had activated his curse, but I was constrained by my limited knowledge of what exactly it would do. I immediately released him and moved to a small ridge near the Black Lake."

It was full on night now, and, while I didn't relish sitting in the dark with no proper defence, I wasn't about to disturb the mood Snape found himself in. It made his tongue loose, and that could only mean invaluable information. I'd learned about his true role in the Order and with the Death Eaters from Mum, but it had only been six months since the end of the war, and trust was a high commodity where this man was concerned.

"When Draco stood and began walking towards me, I nearly embraced him," Snape continued. "Had I done that, it would've surely meant my death. The boy was..." He took another long sip of his tea. "The only word I can use to describe his look is _hungry_."

"Hungry?"

"Turn on a light or something, please."

Nonplussed, I searched for a small lamp to turn on, finally finding one near the entrance to the room. "Better?"

Though he grimaced with the intrusive brightness, he nodded. "Tolerable." He drained the contents of his cup and returned it to me. "_Mors Viscus_ are motivated by one thing: the desire to consume living flesh."

I swallowed convulsively.

"They are dead flesh, driven by the stimulus to feed; there is no high level brain activity, just basic motor function to enable them to seek food. Residual memories may exist in what is left of their brains, which causes them to gravitate towards known locations. That is possibly why Draco came after me first." He tucked a strand of limp hair behind his ear. "There may also be some very rudimentary use of tools, for example hitting a barricade with a stick, but they are just as likely to bash at that barrier until their hands break off." Snape grimaced fiercely. "So far, they back away from fire, but they won't _think_ any further than how to get from where they are to where you are."

"What happened to Draco?"

He glanced away. "For all intents and purposes, Draco was dead. All the spells, hexes, curses I directed at him did not slow him in the least; he just kept walking towards me with a singular lust. It was then that I noticed that several of my _brothers_ also exhibited the same behaviour as Draco: the same blank but hungry gaze, the same mindless, driven stalking. When I was surrounded by eleven of them, I quickly Disapparated."

"To where?"

"My home at Spinner's End. I was extremely fortunate that the curse hadn't spread quickly enough to make Apparating or Disapparating at that point dangerous." He raised his head and stared at me in earnest, almost begging me to believe him. "I tried to warn others, to tell them the signs and whom to avoid at all costs." He lowered his head again, shaking it back and forth. "But I was attacked on sight by most everyone, so I couldn't warn them properly."

I'd seen whole villages or more turned into those things. "How did it spread? If it only affected Death Eaters, how did Muggles and the wizarding world become like this?"

"Because they are dead, _Mors_ will ignore each other. If they happen across an old piece of meat, be it a severed limb or tin of beef, they will ignore that as well. A _Mors_ does not care what species its prey is, as long as it is living."

"My dragons," I whispered. If they could wipe out entire cities, they could certainly bring down a wounded dragon.

"Dead flesh decomposes; ergo they continue to decay, though at a far slower rate. Eventually, they will stop working altogether. When there is no muscle left on the bones at all, the _Mors_ can no longer move and so are no longer a threat." He snorted mirthlessly. "It's ironic that they are weaker than a live human, considering they consist of nothing more than decomposing flesh, yet can overpower most wizards and witches." Clenching and unclenching his fist, he ground out, "No, their strength is in their vast numbers, no sleep requirements, and the fact that they're not constrained by pain or any consideration of self-preservation."

"You still haven't told me how they spread."

"You keep interrupting me," Snape snarled. "Like a precocious child who wants to know why the sky is blue, or the grass is green."

"You keep going off on these tangents!"

He crossed his arms mutinously and thinned his lips. "Fine, I'm going to sleep then." He turned away from me and pulled the duvet over his head. "And turn off that damn light!"

I wanted to hex his arse. Really, I did. I even had my wand raised to do so, pointing right at his back. But the words never left my mouth. I tried to make my lips form the spell that would send a stinging sensation all over his body, but it felt like my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I reasoned that the man had literally been to Hell and back... and still living through it each day. He'd seen one of his own die in his arms only to have that same one revert to a pathetic, senseless being with a severe case of the munchies.

He was spot on when it came to my insatiable need to ask questions and I felt more disgusted by what I'd been contemplating than ever in my life.

Setting several wards on the door and windows, I turned out the light, crawled beneath the covers of the other bed, and lay there for several minutes, wondering if Snape would tell me more tomorrow, or if he would be his usual arsehole self and not say a word until it was too late.


	3. Chapter 3

Usual disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything that is Harry Potter and I don't. Consequently, she makes the all the money... and I don't. **Warning: **Lemony limes. ;)

* * *

Dreams are funny things.

I hadn't slept properly in quite some time before Snape and I came to stay in the wellness hotel. But that night, I slept like the dead. Well, no, not like those things that were after us. The _real_ dead. It also meant that whatever sleep-deficit I'd suffered had finally caught up with me, and I dreamt as if I'd taken ten of George's Daydream Charms. They were disjointed images mostly, and I can't recall over half of them, though the ones I do, I wish I could've forgotten.

I awoke with a heavy feeling in my chest and stomach, like the sensation you get when you receive bad news that is so shocking you don't know how to react. I curled into a ball beneath the covers and buried my face into the pillow. Tears welled in my eyes, and I let them fall, the sheer magnitude of the situation having finally become unbearable. When I shifted, a cup of tea was thrust into my line of vision.

"Drink."

I stared at the hand holding the cup. Snape possessed long, nimble fingers that looked both strong and graceful. His left hand hung at an odd angle, a side-effect of his having severed the tendons in his arm, but it was still just as captivating as the other. I've always liked hands; they're capable of comfort and nurturing, of conveying love or even hate. To me, they're just as expressive as a person's face.

"It will make you feel better," Snape murmured, still holding the cup in front of me.

Nothing would make me feel better, but unless I wanted to start the day off the way we'd ended the previous night, I had to drink it. "Thanks," I mumbled before sitting up and taking the cup.

"I don't believe it is wise for us to stay another night," he pointed out as he moved away and started stuffing some items into my rucksack.

"What time is it?" It was light out, that was all I knew.

"Half past noon."

I couldn't help choking on the tea. "Bloody hell! You should've woken me!"

"You needed the sleep," Snape responded with a careless shrug.

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him some more questions about the diseased creatures, but my head hurt, and I didn't feel like getting into a row with him. Instead, I asked about home. "Do you have any information about my family?"

He paused in his task. "Percy, Ronald and George..." His back was turned to me, yet I could tell he really didn't want to say more. "Though for George, it was more of a blessing that he—"

"Died or became one of _them_?" I hated the tremor in my voice, but I had to know if I would come up against one of my brothers out on this necrophiliac's wet dream of a battlefield.

"George and Percy ended permanently, of... unnatural causes." Snape tilted his head slightly to look at me from the corner of his eye. "I mercifully dispatched Ronald before he could turn others."

"_Turn_ others? How the hell does this thing spread? How could Ron hurt anyone?"

"I'll tell you when you're ready."

"I'm ready now, damn it!"

He turned and sent a scathing glare tinged with maliciousness my way. "What shall I tell you, Charles? That Ronald was about to _eat_ his best friends before I intervened? That, even when I told the Weasley clan what could happen, how it spread, they still didn't believe that their child could become a mindless killer?"

The grip on my tea cup was so intense that the thing shattered in my hands, though I didn't notice it until Snape was mopping up the blood that resulted. I heard him in the back of my mind, admonishing me for doing such an utterly stupid thing, when the scent of blood would attract any _Mors Viscus_ that happened to linger in the area. I really wasn't paying attention to him until his hands stilled on mine.

When he moved, it was quicker than someone Disapparating. In a tic, he was across the room, breathing heavily, as if he'd run for miles, his face nearly drained of colour.

I looked down at my still bloody hands. "What?"

"Cast an _Episkey_ and get rid of the towel," he hissed, then turned and opened the window to stick his head outside.

I did as he ordered, without balking—which is unusual for me. Most times, I demand to know why before I do something, especially if it's a strange request. Snape's insistence, however, carried such weight behind it that I felt that, if I didn't follow his commands, I'd regret it very much. With my hands now clear of debris and healed, and the towel incinerated by a Bluebell flame, I approached my old professor like I would a stroppy dragon.

"Are you—"

Snape whipped his head around and glared at me. "Aren't you ready to leave yet?"

Sometimes I didn't know why I bothered; he was such a surly bastard. But Granger had always pointed out that she and I were similar in our deep-rooted need to help those who couldn't help themselves, regardless of whether they wanted our assistance or not. "Do I have time to grab a soak? I haven't bathed in quite some time and I'm sure I'm pretty ripe."

"Is that what that stench is?" he commented snidely after inhaling. "Please, by all means. Spare us your odoriferous malefactions."

Why did I want to help that man? It was like whelping a pregnant Shortsnout when all she wanted to do was chew on my face. I took one step towards him, looking like I was on the verge of hitting him again, I'm sure, before I noticed something: he was literally cringing away from me.

No one had ever been afraid of me. Not my family, not my lovers, and not my dragons. I'd earned their respect, which is an extremely different thing, so that abject terror on his face had me flummoxed. Stepping back, I showed him my hands in supplication, hoping he'd take it as a sign of non-aggression.

"I'll be quick," I reassured him before disappearing into the bathroom.

As I stood under the spray of hot water, I began lathering the complimentary shampoo through my long red curls, trying to put all those puzzle pieces that were my companion, together. One moment he was protecting me from the maggot-riddled, slack-jawed hunks of flesh that keep chasing us, and the next, he was berating me for some small infraction that tended to be my everyday behaviour. It wasn't like I had intended to break the cup and purposefully bring every one of those cesspools of decrepit inhumanity right to our door. And how could I have ever guessed that Snape would have a reaction like he did? He'd been sadistic and mental when he'd been my professor; Merlin only knew how much worse he'd gotten over the years, especially since the Dark Lord had fallen.

Damn. I forgot to ask him about that again. I hadn't asked about my family on purpose, until it had crowded my brain, because, for me, "out of sight is out of mind." That's the only way I can deal with things sometimes. And it's why long-distance relationships have never worked; if the person wasn't right there in front of me, I rarely had time to think of them. Horrible way to go about life, I know, but while working with dragons, I needed to focus my attention so as to not do stupid things, like get killed.

I couldn't afford to become a lovesick fool. Those relationships I'd had, had tended to branch out to the occasional keeper or the small magical community in Bucharest, people who'd known what I was, and that had been fine. Then. But now? Now that almost everyone was dead, I felt like I'd missed something, something important that I needed. I didn't crave regular sex, though that was a part of it, but rather had a fierce desire to connect to someone that would remember me, should the worst happen.

I grabbed the bar soap that was lying on the sink and started rubbing it up and down my body, the lather feeling wonderfully marvellous on my itchy skin. As I spread the slick substance down past my navel, I took myself in hand. It'd been ages since I'd had a decent wank and my body was profusely reminding me. It wasn't a sexual need, per se, but the urgency to work off the tension that had been gathering for some time, since this whole thing with the creatures had started. Like Snape had said, I had to keep my head in the game to avoid becoming like them.

Thinking of him, I pulled back my foreskin and rubbed the tip of my thumb over the slit. I bit my bottom lip so I wouldn't moan aloud and give Snape additional fodder to torment me with. "Surreal" was the word that kept popping in my mind when I closed my eyes... because every time I did, I imagined his hands stroking me, those long, nimble fingers that I coveted, pumping me slowly while his tongue traced the blue veins that ran the length of my cock. Trying to rationalise that Severus Snape was fulfilling my fantasies for the moment was highly disconcerting, but just imagining those fathomless eyes piercing me with the same kind of want and need had me increasing my strokes.

Clutching at the shower tiles, I gave into the fantasy my fevered brain created. The faster I pumped, the more I could actually see him, kneeling before me and swallowing my girth. When I rolled my bollocks and squeezed them, I could feel his tongue swipe at the sensitive head while he began to hum, the vibrations coursing pleasurably along my shaft and driving me over to the edge. I spurted so hard and fast, I know I must've moaned.

And it sounded oddly like Snape's name.

After I could breathe normally again, I leaned my head against the warm tiles and sighed. This complicated things. It was the wrong time, the wrong place—hell, the wrong fucking person! When I pulled back the semi-clear shower curtain, I frowned.

The door to the bathroom, which I had closed before showering, was slightly ajar.

* * *

Neither of us said anything. Not when we left the hotel, and most certainly not while we trekked through the countryside. The tension was palpable and added to the stress I already felt. At some point it would boil over, but I'd be damned if I was going to be sorry for wanking in the shower while, unbeknownst to me, Snape was in audience.

"Your tattoo is interesting."

I stopped abruptly, causing Snape to run into my back. "You had no right!" Okay... so much for subtlety.

He arched that infuriating eyebrow. "Considering you moaned _Severus_ at the end, I think I had every right."

"You invaded my privacy!" I was standing on a small stump, so I was nose to nose with him now.

Snape leaned in close. "There is no privacy to be had! You take what you can, _when_ you can."

"That's rich, coming from someone like you! You, who have all your secrets so tightly wrapped around you that it would take a curse-breaker ages to even decipher which enigma to begin dismantling!"

He looked like he was about to reach out and touch my face, but those black, flashing eyes dimmed, and he stepped away. "What do you want to know?" he inquired before sitting on a fallen tree log and wrapping his travelling cloak around him.

I squatted in front of him, my hands on his knees. At that point, I was desperate for information and I had a hunch that Snape would respond more favourably if I touched him in a comforting, unobtrusive, and friend-like manner. "How does this thing spread? How do we stop it?"

I'd been right. He immediately covered my hands with his. "The _Mors Viscus_ bite their victims, directly creating another _Mors_—the bite kills the person with an infection. The strains of bacteria in the saliva of these creatures are too numerous to count." Snape's fingers began to idly stroke mine, and I have to admit, the touch soothed me. "If they fail to consume their prey, but manage even a single bite before it escapes, it inevitably becomes one of them." He lowered his head. "The bite is always fatal."

I was glad I was kneeling, or else my legs would've given way. So those things... multiplied by a mere bite? Dear Merlin. Voldemort had been nothing more than a despot necromancer, and his last _gift_ to us had been complete annihilation. "How do we stop them?"

"The limitation of the _Mors_ is governed by how decayed their body is once the curse spreads into the victim's bloodstream; a skeleton cannot be turned, since there is no muscle to move the bones, and no brain to drive it." Snape grimaced and gripped my hands. "Eventually, they stop working altogether. When there is no sinew left on the frame at all, the creatures can no longer move and are no longer a threat."

"So, we just wait for them to waste away?"

The bugger smirked at me. "In essence." His half smile faltered. "The time between transformations varies, however, according to the severity of the bite. A serious attack can result in death and reanimation within minutes, whereas a slight nip can take up to a week."

I couldn't help myself. I panicked. I stood so quickly, I nearly fell backwards. Patting down my body, I searched every inch of my skin to see if I'd inadvertently received a bite during a tussle. I lifted my flannel shirt and then the tee-shirt beneath it. I dropped my jeans and then my pants to examine my legs and hips. Nothing, except for a few scratches. I glanced at Snape with worry.

But he was staring at my body—my very much _on display_ body. I thought he would be the one to blush, but I could feel the heat of mortification creep up my neck and flood my face.

"As I stated before, interesting tattoo."

Slowly, I reached down and pulled my pants and jeans back up over my hips while watching his hungry gaze flit all over my body. I had to think of my mum in a string-bikini to keep myself from reacting. It worked.

Until Snape licked his lips, and I let a groan escape.

"Please stop," I begged.

"I had dry lips," he said casually. "I merely wetted them."

"At that precise moment?" I buckled my leather belt and did the zip up.

He stood, walked to me, and angled his face close to mine. "I choose my moments very carefully."

He then nuzzled my cheek and headed off into the forest.

* * *

"You know what I miss?"

"Enlighten me."

Droll tosser. I'd taken to talking, blathering, and nattering on about anything to avoid discussing what had happened earlier in the day. "Cauldron cakes. Mum made the best kind."

Snape, ahead of me, came to a halt on a high ridge. "Cauldron cakes?" He shook his head in apparent disgust. "Such a Weasley."

"I can't help that I'm starving."

"I worry about you."

"Hey!" But he wasn't paying attention to me anymore. In fact, he was retreating quickly towards me.

"Do you have that cricket bat still with you?"

"Cricket bat?" I shuffled through my rucksack. "This thing?"

"Yes!" He grabbed the wooden bat and made his way up the ridge he'd just descended from.

I followed to stand beside him. "What're you—" The words died in my throat.

Below, in the valley, was what could only be described as a horde of _Mors Viscus_, all in varying degrees of decay. Some looked like they'd just been turned. Others... well, let's just say they wouldn't have posed much of a problem to us. It was the sheer overwhelming numbers of them that had my heart beating as if a bird in a cage, desperate for freedom.

"Salazar's hairy balls!"

"That's putting it mildly."

I didn't care that we'd possibly end up in a worse situation; I just followed my gut instinct. Latching onto Snape from behind, I wrapped my arms around him and Disapparated, concentrating on the city of Bratislava.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for reviewing! Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything in the Potterverse. I make nothing and if she ever found out I did this to her characters, I would probably disappear, so please don't tell her. **MAJOR LEMONS!**

* * *

"You foolish boy!" Snape shouted, the moment we stopped moving.

I took the bat from him. No need to let the already highly dangerous wizard remain armed, was there? Especially when he was brassed off with _me_. "We should be safe here... at least for a short time."

Snape looked like he was about to pitch a conniption. "There is _nowhere_ that is safe, you imbecilic dunderhead! You could've Apparated us right into the middle of a feeding frenzy, and then where would we be?"

"But I didn't." I knew I sounded smug although I hadn't meant to.

Gods, it always put me on edge whenever Snape smirked just like he did that very moment. "Not yet," he said nastily and pointed towards the Bratislava castle.

Feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rising, I turned and swallowed thickly. Several groupings of the creatures were in essence _feeding_. I could hear one poor unfortunate still screaming; it ended abruptly, thank Circe.

I was swung around to face Snape, his right fist balled up in my shirt as he shook me. "This is why you don't blindly Apparate into unknown areas!" he hissed venomously.

"I've been here before!" I snarled back, my chin tilted mutinously. "The Carpathian mountain range begins here!"

He clapped his hand over my mouth and dragged me into the shadows of a ramshackle building with several broken windows. "Any louder, and they'll find us for certain."

As if on cue, there was a shuffle and a groan before a creature appeared off to our right, emerging from the back of the building. It was a more aged _Mors_, the flesh on its shoulders nearly gone.

"_Sectumsempra_!" Snape shouted, his wand pointed at the being.

I had always been impressed with my former professor to begin with, but my estimation rose while I observed the thing being hacked to bits by an invisible slasher. Snape had been right; the spell didn't kill it, but it debilitated it severely, enough for us to escape.

As we exited from the building near the castle, we met more of them. I raised my wand, ready to throw out Fiendfyre, but Snape grabbed my wrist to prevent me.

"Nothing else will work, unless you want to destroy what's left of the city." His gaze darted to the creatures closing in on us, their moans and garbled grunts unnerving, to say the least. "I have enough power to Disapparate once, but will afterwards be unable to perform magic for an extensive length of time." He grabbed hold of my bicep. "Do you trust me?"

I'd trust that Voldemort wanted peace, love and happiness, if it meant that he'd get us out of that situation. "Yes?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Ever the vote of confidence." Without further explanation, he wrapped his arms around me, and I felt the horrible squeeze of Apparition.

* * *

It was dark, dank, and smelled of disuse, the air musty. I couldn't see a thing, but I felt Snape sag to the ground the moment we became stationary.

"Snape?" No answer. "Severus!" I whispered urgently. I had no idea where we were; he'd never told me our destination before we'd Disapparated.

He gave a feeble groan, which pinpointed his location low and to my right. I felt my way along the dirt until my hand clasped onto his foot. "Where are we?"

"Coquelles, France," Snape muttered. "One of my... safe houses."

Merlin, he sounded horrible, like that wheeze had returned with a vengeance. "_Lumos_."

I'd gleaned that he was burdened with some lung ailment, but when the light from the tip of my wand was cast upon him, I couldn't hold my gasp back. "Bloody hell!"

Apparently, he had enough energy to glare at me. Figured. "I'm sure you don't... look your best when... you've had little sleep or food."

When I've got my mind set on something, I pursue it relentlessly until I accomplish my goal. I may not finish a task delegated to me by others—in fact, I can't remember the last time I completed a project without much prodding—but I'm very good at what I want to do, when I want to do it. I'd known I was traipsing about the countryside with a sick person, yet I hadn't necessarily been conscious of the other person's needs because I'd been so singularly-minded in my effort to get home.

When he mentioned the need for rest and sustenance, however, guilt hit me full force. "Is there any food or a place to sleep here?"

Snape sat up a little, his face pale and gaunt. "This is the cellar. Help me up the stairs, and I will show you the rest," he managed between pants.

I thought about just scooping him up in my arms, but he'd probably have snarled and then smacked me on the back of my head. Instead, I bent low, wrapped my left arm around his back, and hefted him to a standing position, looping his right arm over my shoulders. Clutching my wand in my right hand, I manoeuvred us toward what looked like a rickety set of wooden steps that led up to a door.

After practically dragging him up the stairs, I spelled the door open and held my wand aloft, in case there was a surprise waiting on the other side. The door swung open to reveal a plain and simple room, only necessities visible in the smallish area. I spied a ladder-back chair and deposited Snape onto it before glancing around what could possibly be the kitchen.

"Food?" I gave him a quick look over my shoulder and for the first time, I felt true fear.

He was sucking in gulping breaths, his eyes red-rimmed and watery. His cheeks were hollow, and the natural light of the day filtering through the lone window made him look like a ghost. I knew he was thin, as he'd always had been, but now he looked positively skeletal. Plus, he still sported the shiner I'd given him back in Herceghalom. I felt like the ultimate heel.

Raising his hand and pointing to a pantry closet, Snape muttered, "In there, dry goods."

Inside were uncooked pasta, flour, sugar, tins of soup and beans, and something called "Spam," which looked utterly revolting. I turned to ask him what he could stomach, but he had his eyes closed, as if he was asleep, though his lips were moving as if he was reciting something or chanting. I watched him in morbid fascination, finding that his already angular features became even more pronounced and foreboding with each twitch of facial muscle. It was disconcerting.

I cleared my throat so as not to startle him, before I knelt next to his chair. "How about some beans on toast?"

He opened his eyes slowly and stared at me, and I could tell there was a fair amount of confusion and blankness behind his gaze. Then it faded, and Snape once again had that obsidian glare. "That sounds tolerable."

I was somewhat relieved to hear his voice a little stronger than earlier. I rose, absentmindedly patting him on his bony knee, and moved away to the cupboard. I proceeded to transfigure the flour into a loaf of bread, which I then toasted and sliced. Having laid several slices on a plate that I'd found, opened a tin of the beans and poured them over the toast, murmuring a heating charm as I did so.

"Do you need help?" I asked sincerely before handing Snape the plate and fork.

His infamous glare was my answer. "My ability to feed myself hasn't ceased, thank you, Mister Weasley."

A smile broke out on my face. "Glad to have you back, sir."

He arched that narrow brow of his. "I wasn't aware that I'd gone anywhere." He took the fork and tucked into the beans and bread, eating at a measured pace.

* * *

Hours later, when it was quite dark outside, I peeked out the window to scan the area. It was as deserted as most places, but I had a sense of safety that I hadn't had elsewhere. Maybe it was the _Notice-Me-Not_ ward that covered Snape's hideout, or the fact that there seemed to be hardly any creatures scurrying around outside. Whatever it was, I felt secure enough to hazard some sleep.

Though not up to full strength, Snape appeared to have gained his second wind and showed me to the back of the flat, where a large bed dominated the room. The moment I saw the mattress, I practically drooled with delight and collapsed upon it, exhausted and still fully clothed, barring my boots.

"Budge over, you behemoth," Snape groused, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I know I barely moved, but it was enough that he lay down next to me and pulled up the blanket to cover us. It was chilly, and I guessed we were heading into December, since it had been the end of October when I'd first set out from Romania. With his body rested against mine, I could feel the coolness of him even through the layers of both our clothes and the covers.

"You're cold," I mumbled and instinctively turned to drape an arm over him and share my heat. He stiffened at the contact, but I really didn't care. I'm a very tactile person, and if someone is in my bed—well, technically, it was Snape's, but that was just semantics—I tend to cuddle or snuggle. Poncy, I know, but there it is.

It was several minutes before he relaxed enough that I thought he actually enjoyed my presence, even though I was invading his personal space.

Before sleep claimed me, I heard him hum low, like a contented purr and felt him nuzzle my brow, pressing a kiss there as his breathing evened out.

* * *

I chalked up the fevered images and feeling that consumed me to not having had a decent shag in months. My mind was lost amongst the scenarios that flooded my brain with thoughts of Snape and what he could do to me—

—_was_ doing to me.

A cool hand was stroking my noticeable erection in a leisurely fashion.

I let slip a groan of ecstasy. "Mmmh, more," I begged. I couldn't tell if it was a dream or reality, but I seriously didn't care.

"Such a glutton, Charles," was whispered against my ear. Only Snape had that luxurious, dark voice that slipped through my veins like dragon fire. It made me whimper.

Those long, nimble fingers gripped me and moved up and down, pulling my foreskin back. A thumb was swiped over the leaking tip. Gods, I loved it, and thrust my hips up instinctually.

My breathing became shallower, the faster the hands stroked my throbbing flesh, and I opened my eyes to see Snape gazing at me, his hands having never moved from their position near his head, though the covers shifted as if he were stroking me. "Incredible," I gasped and reached to cup his cheeks, leaning close to kiss him, but he pulled away, shaking his head.

"Come, now," he ordered softly, and I could only obey.

I felt warmth spill over onto his phantom hands when I cried out his name, just as I'd had in the shower at the hotel. I panted until I found my equilibrium again.

"Better?" Snape posed with a rare, indulgent smile.

A barmy grin covered my face. "Extremely." I moved to return the favour, but again he pulled away.

"I'm hungry," he said quietly. His right hand descended below the duvet and then made its way to his mouth, covered in my come. He licked his fingers clean. "Delicious," he purred.

My nostrils flared, and I felt my recently spent erection renew itself. "Let me," I pleaded. I fumbled with his trouser clasp until he gripped my wrist, stopping me.

A sensual smile crept across his lips. "No, but you may watch."

I was about to ask what he meant, when he slipped from the bed to stand beside it, unzipped his black trousers, and lowered them and his pants. While he was impressive in length, he didn't seem as rigid as I'd thought he would be. Then I remembered that he was ill, and it didn't matter, as long as he enjoyed himself.

"Let me see you," he commanded and I threw back the covers, showing him my own hardened shaft.

"Ah, the wonders of youth," he said on a sigh, gazing hungrily at my groin. He wrapped those deft fingers around his penis and began pumping, licking his lips as I mimicked his actions.

"Touch your arse," he directed, pressing his forefinger and thumb together at the tip of his cock.

Whispering a lubricating charm that coated my fingers, I reached behind me and prodded my tight hole. I'd buggered someone before, but I'd never been shagged like that, so this was new, and I didn't know if I was doing it very well. It didn't matter, really, for in the next moment I felt something besides my fingers trying to make its way into my arse.

I looked up at Snape, and I could tell he was murmuring a spell, still stroking his prick. Every time he moved his fingers up, something thick and long pressed into me, stretching me. Same as when he retreated; the sensation would pull out. This continued for several moments until the need for something more made me arch and writhe on the bed.

"Remove your hand and hold onto the bars."

Frowning in confusion, I hesitantly did as he directed. Wrapping my fingers around the wrought-iron of the headboard, I spread my legs as much as I could with my jeans half-way down my thighs. I was about to ask him what was next, but his movements pre-empted that.

My arse was suddenly filled, causing me to grunt. "Fuck!"

Snape smiled seductively and thrust his hips in the air, the motion coinciding with another driving push inside me. Somehow, he was shagging me without laying a finger on me, and I was delirious with the sensation. Every time he pumped his fist over his shaft, his length filled me, and the quicker he went, the more I couldn't help but want it to never end.

"Prepare yourself," he demanded urgently.

Dear Merlin, that could mean anything in Snape language. I didn't get to wonder for long. He bent double and roared his own completion, the sound quite inhuman. And, at the same time, my arse tingled and the most unforgettable feeling spread through my body as it was suffused with something akin to warmth, security, protection, and a sentiment I'd only glimpsed in other people: true affection. It wasn't just an orgasm; it was a melding of souls, at least to me. I hadn't realised I'd come as well, until I glanced down at my stomach and noticed the globs of milky-white spunk coating my shirt.

"Christ, that was..." I couldn't finish; my voice was too shaky.

He probably didn't hear me though, for, when I looked up, he was gone.

* * *

I found him about three hours later, in the kitchen, putting tins of that Spam-thing in my rucksack. "I don't like the look of that stuff," I told him. I tried not to let the irritation thread through my voice, but I don't think I did a very good job of hiding it.

"Doesn't matter. It's food and will keep you alive." He shoved a package of biscuits into one of the side pockets.

I didn't like the implication of his words. "What do you mean, keep _me_ alive? What about you?"

He paused for a moment. "You are going home." He then continued to fill the sack with other items, including a curiously-shaped box. "I am staying here."

"No." This was unacceptable!

Snape turned to me and sneered. "You have no say in this matter."

"I sure as hell do have a say!" I closed in on him, reaching out to touch him, but he backed away. "Why do you always do that?"

"I don't like you touching me," he growled and thrust my rucksack at me.

I took the sack and threw it behind me. "Then what the hell was this morning all about? Are you saying you can touch me all you want, and I can do nothing?"

"I see that there's still some semblance of a brain inside your skull," he snarked before turning his back on me.

Wrong thing to do.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

* * *

It was bloody hard dragging the git's frozen form from his safe house to stand with it near the edge of a shallow gorge, without attracting attention. At the bottom were about four sets of railroad tracks, a silver and yellow coloured train sitting idly on one of them. The train was definitely more advanced than the Hogwarts Express had ever been, and its engine was directed towards a tunnel that looked like it ran into the hillside.

_Le tunnel sous la Manche_ was etched into the stone arch above the tunnel's entrance. I would've asked Snape what it all meant, but I was sure he'd carve up my backside for what I'd done to him, seeing as how he'd been immobilised. I almost didn't want to be there when I took the charm off him.

Cautiously, I approached the train, ever on the lookout for the creatures. I'd bypassed several when I'd left the house, and it had been no small miracle that, though one or two had spotted us, they had been quite aged and hadn't had the power to follow us.

I studied the sleek body of the train, looking for a door and finally finding one near the front of the engine. I spelled it open and glanced inside, waiting to see if anything came meandering up the aisle of the passenger car. When nothing had happened after five minutes, I carefully brought Snape on board and propped him against one of the seats.

"Sorry, but you brought this on yourself," I told him before caressing his cheek. I could tell the spell would wear off shortly, because he narrowed his eyes at me. "I won't leave you behind," I supplied, as if that would answer all his questions—and mine.

After securing him in a grey, cloth-covered seat with an orange headrest, I made my way to the main power car where the conductor usually resided. I'm a quick learner, usually able to perform a duty within the first three tries. I learn by trial and error, hands-on training. I gain nothing from oral lectures or tedious note-taking. If I can't do it for myself, work my way through something, I don't bother, because I'll just foul it up. I, therefore, found a challenge in the map and manuals that littered a board with switches and levers before me. I was confident I'd find a way to use them, as well as some odd things that I'd never seen before, and drive the blasted train out of there.

Looking at the map, I realised the track went from Coquelles, Pas-de-Calais to Folkestone, Kent, near Dover.

England.

_Home_.

I searched frantically for a button that said _Start_, but found none, so I relied on my natural good luck: I pressed a whole bunch of buttons at once. Most times, it's better to be smart than lucky, but I've been gifted with an unnatural streak of good luck which had always served me well, as it did in that instance. Something had to have worked, because the train lurched and purred to life.

The noise attracted groups of _Mors Viscus_ that happened to be lingering near the area. As the train slowly inched its way towards the tunnel, several of them lumbered onto the track. I couldn't find a button or switch that would make the rail car stop, in order to avoid hitting them, but then I thought, _Why would I want to?_

It was near nightfall, and I was quite relieved for barely being able to see the creatures as we surely passed over them before the train entered the tunnel. I didn't want to imagine what was left behind, and was thankfully spared the visual detail.

I found the switch that turned on the lights outside the engine, and the darkness was split by a narrow beam that stretched for what looked like miles. It didn't take me long to determine that if I pushed one of the levers, the train increased its speed, and soon we were flying right along. It could be compared to being on a dragon, I suppose, without the height or fire-breathing issues; it made me smile with that sense of freedom I cherished above anything else.

The feeling was short-lived, however. With the proverbial wind whipping through my hair, I'd forgotten about Snape—something that was brought to my attention by a powerful thud on the cab door.

"Weasley!" he thundered. "Open this door at once!"

Shite. The spell had worn off.

"I'll twist your bollocks off and feed them to the _Mors_ if you don't open this door!"

Double shite.

Standing to one side, I eased the metal door open, only for it to be thrust into my face by Snape, and smash my nose. "Damn it!" Blood spurted onto my fingers as I clutched my mangled proboscis and I glowered at him.

His return look unnerved me. In fact, it wasn't even a "look."

It was pure, feral hunger.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to all who are following this. :D Usual disclaimer: JK Rowling owns them all. Not mine, wish they were.

* * *

I reacted like any paranoid, traumatised wizard would. I screamed like a nancy-boy.

It seemed to have some kind of effect on Snape, for his vision cleared immediately and became fierce with anger. "You sodding lackwit!"

Yeah, I probably deserved that.

He wanted to throw me up against the wall and curse me seven ways to Sunday, I could tell by his fearsome expression, but he was also hesitant. He confused the hell out of me.

"Why would you go against my wishes and kidnap me?" he asked, dumbfounded. The look he gave me was full of misery and recrimination, and, once again, I felt like I'd killed the only living thing the man held dear.

But I had to stand my ground. "Because I won't leave you behind!"

"Did it ever occur to you, in your grand scheme, that I _needed_ to be left behind?"

That made no sense. "Why?"

He gnashed his crooked, yellow teeth. "That is none of your business!"

"It is, if I care about you!" I bellowed, unable to stop myself. There, I'd said it.

Silence reigned for what seemed like an eternity.

"Foolish boy," he snapped and left the compartment, heading back to where I'd originally left him.

I didn't follow him. What could I say, really? _Snape, hate to natter your ear off, but I think I sort of fancy you, and hope you stick around?_ He would've hexed my arse off, and my jeans wouldn't have fit any longer.

No, it was better to leave things be.

At least, for the moment.

* * *

I became hypnotised by the miles of track that the train followed, due mostly to stress and lack of sleep. I'm sure I nodded off a time or two, but never for very long. I became quite disoriented; I couldn't tell what day of the week it was, what month. Hell, even what time of the day. I slept when I could, ate when I found food—though that problem was sufficiently solved for the time being with all the provisions Snape had packed—and fought only when I needed to. I was in full survival mode.

And I was getting sick of it.

When the train emerged into the night, presumably on the other side of the tunnel, it was raining. Ah, good old England, land of eternal sodden weather. When signs for Dover started appearing, I decided I'd left Snape alone in his surliness long enough. I made my way back towards the passenger cars and came to a halt just outside the clear sliding door, to observe him. He was writing in what looked like a leather-bound journal.

I knew his cramped handwriting style from my school years, and his intense focus on what he was doing piqued my curiosity. But then he closed the book and opened the flap on my rucksack, depositing it inside before fastening the clasps. How very odd.

Questions filled my mind at a phenomenal rate, and I nearly tripped over my tongue to ask him when I slid the door to the side.

"We're almost there," I said quietly.

He turned and nodded. "Come here."

So, he was talking to me? That was a good sign... I hoped. I walked down the aisle to sit in the seat opposite him.

He steepled his fingers, pressing his lips to them in what looked like silent contemplation before speaking. "I want an Unbreakable Vow from you."

I could feel my jaw drop, thousands of questions flitting through my mind again. "Why?"

"Because you deemed it necessary to take me with you," he grumbled. "I will have nothing less than a Vow that you will do as I say, _when_ I say."

My gut instinct was to instantly rebel. "No."

"You have no choice in the matter, as I did not."

"Tell me why, then."

He looked askance, as if weighing his options. "I promise to tell you why _after_ you make the Vow." Ever the consummate Slytherin.

"I'll take the Vow if you promise to answer _all_ my questions."

That damnable brow rose. "Haven't I been answering your questions all along?"

"Not to my satisfaction."

"Far be it for me to leave anyone unsatisfied," Snape said silkily. "Give me your right hand."

"Your word, first."

He rolled his eyes. "I promise to answer all of your questions, to your satisfaction, after you take the Unbreakable Vow."

I felt like I'd won a major battle, though I knew it wasn't the war. I nodded and gave him my right hand.

He clasped his about my wrist, and held tight, his left hand gripping his wand awkwardly to weave the spell. "You will ensure the destruction of the _Mors Viscus_ when, and wherever possible."

"I will."

"You will follow my orders when it comes to dealing with the _Mors Viscus_."

Hadn't I just promised that? "I will," I said hesitantly, sensing I was wading into very deep waters.

"You will grant the _Mors Viscus_ no quarter, no mercy."

"I..." But my throat closed up. Why couldn't I promise this?

"Weasley!" he snarled and squeezed my arm. "Finish!"

"I... will."

The thin cord of green light that had intertwined our hands sunk into our flesh, only to appear like a scar that wrapped around my forearm. The moment the vow ended, the heaviest weight settled in the middle of my chest, and I had the strongest urge to cry because I knew that I had just agreed to something that was beyond my realm of knowledge.

* * *

I didn't ask Snape any questions while we were on the train. Truthfully, I'd felt sick to my stomach the very second the spell had been wrought.

When I'm in an emotional quagmire, I close up, distancing myself from those around me until I figure out how I feel. It's generally easy for me to be cheerful, for I tend to be an eternal optimist, but lately... well. Let's just say, I wasn't all that eager to meet those damned things out in the open again.

We debarked in Kent, thankfully to a deserted station. I carried my rucksack, and Snape a smallish canvas sack that I'd pilfered when we'd left his safe house. I cast an _Impervious_ charm to keep the rain off of us since there didn't seem to be any _Mors_ in the general vicinity. He didn't complain, in any case, for which I was grateful.

"Do you think it's safe to use the old Charing entrance in Ashford?" If it was, it would grant direct access to the Leaky Cauldron in London.

"We shall see," he answered evasively. Then, "Did you practise _Sectumsempra_ while you were being maudlin?"

"Yes," I growled. Why did he have to use my emotions against me? Nasty git. I still cared about him a great deal, but I also couldn't ignore his flaws. You know what they say; you can't help whom you fall in love... But no. It wasn't love—only a heightened emotional response towards another person who had survived this travesty. Right? During stressful situations or times of war, people have always tended to gravitate towards those of like-minded persuasions, as in they wanted to remain amongst the living. Sod it all, I was beginning to sound like Percy, which brought forth more unwelcome feelings.

Guess it was time for those questions.

"I know you told me Percy, George, and Ron are all... gone." I had to pause, for saying it aloud made it real and took my breath away. "But what of my parents? Ginny? Bill?"

He glanced at me then returned his eyes to the road we travelled. "I know naught of William," he supplied. "Your mother, Ginerva and Miss Granger..." Now he went silent for a moment before adding, "They went into hiding, last I heard. I believe Mister Potter escorted them out of the country."

"So Harry is alive?"

"I cannot say for certain."

"Well, what can you say for certain?" I snarled in frustration. He was purposely being vague and he'd promised to answer my questions to _my_ satisfaction.

"I can say for certain that your father is dead."

It was like a blow to my chest, his abrupt words, and the smug bastard knew it. "How?" I managed after sucking in a lungful of air.

Snape halted and unexpectedly touched my cheek in a tender manner. "He offered himself up as sacrifice, so that your mother and the others could escape. He was an honourable man, Charles."

Tears filled my eyes. I'd always known that my father loved his family and would have done anything to protect them, but now there it was, in glaring proof. "I know."

"I do not know more than that," he finished softly and continued walking.

I let the tears flow down my cheeks without wiping them away. It would've appeared obscene if I had. I followed Snape without saying anything until we reached the Burnt Mill, a Muggle corn-mill in Charing. There, we picked our way through the debris to a door flush with the wooden floorboards.

Seeing that he would've had to struggle with the heavy door, I passed in front of him and lifted it. "Why haven't we come across any _Mors_?"

Snape descended the steps to a brick wall and I followed. "Remember, England is where the outbreak first occurred. It stands to reason that, over time, they either ran out of food supply or they were already dead by the time the disease became a pandemic." He tapped specific bricks with his wand and I could tell it was with a monumental effort that he cast the spell.

The bricks moved aside to reveal the back end of the Leaky Cauldron. "Thank the gods," I murmured and moved to open the door. When Snape did not follow, I grabbed his arm and tugged. "Come on; I don't want to stand in the rain all evening."

He acquiesced reluctantly, saying nothing, but his lips were thinned so much that they almost disappeared. I also noticed that his skin was like ice, and worry that I'd had him out in the elements for too long crept up my spine.

"We'll get you warmed up, I promise."

The inn was deserted, like most places now, and I sat Snape near the hearth. Having conjured a small fire, I went to find something in the kitchen that looked edible. I could've used some of the Spam stuff, but I really didn't want to eat something that looked like it had been shat out of the backside of a troll. Thankfully, a couple of potatoes filled the bill, so I brought them to the fireside and tossed them into the embers.

"It's not much, but it'll do."

Snape was still silent, staring into the flickering flames. He didn't move nor did he blink. I had determined in the past two days that his magic had been dwindling each time he had used it, and I now wondered if he had completely exhausted what was left, in order to gain passage to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Severus?" I whispered. He'd always seemed to respond before, whenever I'd used his first name.

He did once more. "If you have any questions, Charles, I suggest you ask them now." He moved his gaze from the fire to me, his eyes pleading.

That had me frowning. "Why?"

His eyes lowered. "I won't be able to, later on."

"Why not?" I reiterated. I had that panicky feeling welling up in my throat—the one that told me this would not be good.

"I will be incapable of speech within a few hours."

"Answer the damned question, Severus!" I was tired of his evasive bullshite.

He shrank in on himself. "I will have become a full _Mors Viscus_ by that point."


	6. Chapter 6

And so, this tale comes to an end. *sniffs* Of all the stories I've written, I think this is my favorite. *nods srsly* If you need hankies, I did my job. :D Usual disclaimer: JK Rowling owns it all - after all, she would _never_ do this to her characters. Mwhahahahahaha!

* * *

No. No! _No!_ I would've seen the signs, I would've...

And in that awful moment, I did. I _did_ know. There had been signs from the very beginning—from the minute Snape had been able to tell those beings were near, to now, when his skin was frigid and his mind was flitting between consciousness and the void.

The blood... _my_ blood. No wonder he refused to come near me! It had probably been like being offered a feast worthy of Hogwarts when he'd seen my blood.

"Severus?" My voice was pathetic and full of anguish, but it couldn't be helped.

He didn't look at me, but started rattling off facts as quickly as he could. "There are three general bite- or attack-scenarios. One is the most extreme; the victim is attacked by a large number of i_Mors_/i and is pulled to pieces before reanimation is possible." He breathed deeply, as if centring himself. "The second is a moderate attack; the person is killed by the creatures, but the speed of devouring is slow and the body remains intact long enough to achieve reanimation. Since _Mors Viscus_ do not eat others of their kind, they quickly lose interest." Standing on uncertain legs, Snape grabbed the side of his trousers and drew up the fabric on the left leg, to reveal a miniscule gash that ran the length of his calf. "In the third," he whispered, "the victim escapes with minor injuries, only to succumb to death over a longer period of time."

"I—I can't..."

He slowly turned to stare at me. "But you must, Weasley. You took the Unbreakable Vow."

I covered my mouth to keep from screaming, to keep from calling him a heartless, manipulating arsehole.

"I tried to postpone the effects of the bite by any means possible, but there is only so much I can do to delay the inevitable." Snape gripped my chin and forced me to look at him. "Newly risen _Mors_ may look human, but you'll start to notice sunken cheeks, festering wounds, and the stench of putrefying flesh. When I come at you, though, you'll have a fair chance of pushing me off, since I am alone."

"No!" I ground out and rose to meet him. He immediately released me and backed away.

"I will be driven to consume human flesh—that is it, no power of logic. You profess to care for me. Would you let me continue in that vein, knowing that I would become something I abhorred?"

I gasped. "How could you do this to me?" I grabbed the lapels of his travel-worn frock coat and shook him. "You told me you hadn't been affected by Voldemort's curse, that you nearly hacked off your arm so that it wouldn't happen to you. Did you _lie_ so that I would take pity on you and bring you here to infect others? To infect me?"

Snape wrapped his hands around my wrists and tried to remove them, but my grasp remained firm. "I didn't lie!" he spat. "I was wounded by my great uncle before I'd realised what he'd become!" His body weakened and faltered, and God help me, I held him up because I didn't want to see him like this. "I had to make sure I passed on the information that I'd gathered about the creatures and I knew you were the only one who would believe me."

I so desperately wanted to hate him. "Do you get off on causing the people who care about you pain and misery?"

He cupped my face and laid his forehead against mine. "I need someone who cares for me to make sure I don't come back, someone who is strong enough to do the right thing, so that I don't infect anyone else."

I wept. That is the only thing I can say for sure that I did. I tried to kiss him, but Snape refused.

"I might contaminate you with my saliva," he countered, but pressed his closed lips to my brow.

That was why he had never let me kiss him, why he had only touched me with his hands, why he hadn't let me touch his prick, even after release. No fluids to pass on the bacteria.

"Soon, words will be beyond me." He pulled me close, embracing me fully. "Do not wait long after that."

"I can't," I cried. "Even with the Vow, I can't do this to you!"

He pulled back, glaring at me with those compelling and fierce eyes. "Do not make me Imperuse you."

That would be even worse; to be forced to do his bidding when everything in me would be rebelling at the idea of killing him. Not that he had the power to cast anything now, but the idea of coercing him to do so made me quite sick. Better to do it of my own accord. I nodded silently. What could I do, really? All my energy fled and I sagged against him. "You've been steadily growing weaker, while your magic has been draining away, haven't you?"

I felt him nod against the side of my head. "When I Apparated us to my safe house, I intended to stay there. I could barely conjure the simplest of spells by that point."

And I had taken him from there, against his will. No wonder he had been ready to murder me. I don't regret what I did though, taking him with me. "Stay with me, just for a little while," I asked and, not waiting for his answer, pulled him towards the staircase that led to the rooms on the upper floor.

He hesitated, and I knew why. "It is imperative that you do not let this pestilence spread, Charles."

I shook my head. "I won't." I swallowed thickly, tears clogging my eyes and throat. "Remember: no quarter, no mercy."

"Yes." Now Snape looked uneasy, probably because I'd agreed too readily, but I wasn't in the mood for a fight. Not when all I had left was mere hours.

We made it up the steps, and I opened the third door on the right, to find the room behind it uninhabited, if only slightly messy. I didn't care, honestly. I ushered Snape inside, closed the door, and sat him on the bench at the end of the bed. Kneeling in front of him, I began untying the laces to his boots, careful not to touch the inflamed skin around his ankle.

I lost any control I had over my emotions when Snape laid his hand atop my head and whispered, "Charlie."

That one word said everything. I placed my cheek on his trouser-covered knee and sobbed, burying my nose against his thigh. I screamed a thousand, _I love you's_ in my head, but voiced not one. He would not want that, not now. It didn't make it any less true, though.

He ran his trembling fingers through my limp curls, oh, so carefully, and my heart broke. I still wish I'd had it in me to kiss him, heedless of his warning, but I know now as I did then that he would've pushed me away and chastised me for trying. His skin was so cold it nearly burned me, even through the fabric. When I moved my wet eyes to his, I grimaced.

The decline had started in earnest, and Snape was powerless to stop it. It looked like he was crying as well, but pink rivulets were scattered across his gaunt cheeks instead of tears. I raised my hand unthinkingly, to wipe them away, but he grasped my wrist before I could touch him.

"N-no." I could tell he had trouble saying the word, and it made my soul ache.

"Lie down," I told him and had him move to the bed to lie atop the covers.

He looked panicky, as if he were drowning and couldn't swim. "Ch-charlie?"

I bit my lip to keep from roaring at the injustice of it all. A fresh wave of tears filled my eyes, and I smoothed back the hair that was plastered to his brow. "It's okay, Severus," I lied, hating myself for it. "You'll... be free soon."

Leaving him on the bed, I went to my rucksack, withdrew the cricket bat, and transfigured it into a Japanese Katana. In one of my lulls at the reserve, I'd read up on Bushidō, the code of conduct that the Muggle Samurai adhered to. That code was said to have emphasized virtues such as loyalty, honour, duty, and self-sacrifice—all the things Severus Snape embodied. The Samurais' Katana was just an extension of themselves.

My gaze roamed the gleaming, lethal edge of the sword, and I knew I couldn't end Snape with a blunt blow to the head, nor the slicing hex he'd taught me. It had to be a proud way to die, the warrior way.

I crawled onto the bed next to him, alert and watching his chest move up and down in shallow breaths that became sparser as time ticked by. It was surreal, the idea that I was sitting in the dark, observing Severus Snape dying in the throes of some horrible thing that Voldemort had done to his Death Eaters. It was the highest point of irony that Snape had cut his Dark Mark from his arm to evade the curse, only to be bitten much later, unable to avoid his fate.

The gong from the mantle clock startled me, and I only just realised that I'd fallen asleep at some point. I darted my gaze to where Severus was—or should have been.

He was missing.

Shite.

Quickly, I leapt from the bed and thought about calling his name, but if he was well into the change, he wouldn't be able to answer. Instead of yelling, I thoroughly checked the room. Having found nothing, I made my way downstairs to the main hall, where I finally spotted him standing before the fire, slowly rocking back and forth.

"Severus?"

He did not turn to acknowledge me but he did stop rocking. "Charrrr..."

That was all he could articulate. Gripping the hilt of the Katana and watching closely, I slowly approached him from the left. "I'm here, Severus."

This time, he did turn to look at me, and to this day I wish he hadn't. Gone were the jet-black eyes that had been endless; a filmy haze now covered them. A thin line of spittle slipped from his slack mouth and pooled on the floor below. The closer I drew to him, the more overpowering the stench of decayed flesh became.

In a moment that I will remember for the rest of my life, Severus' eyes held a lone spark of consciousness, and he managed to draw out a single word. "_Now._"

"It's a good day to die, my friend." I screamed and swung. The blade sliced an arch in the air before finding its mark and ending Snape's suffering. In hindsight, I was incredibly lucky—dead blood doesn't flow, so it was a clean cut and I wasn't splattered with the disease-ridden fluid.

I can't tell you how long I sat there afterwards, crumpled on the floor, crying silently. I can't tell you when I first noticed the light of the new day filtering in through the dirty windows, the rays slowly creeping across the flagstones. I can't tell you how empty and horrified I was, because the void and desolation inside me were immeasurable.

What I can tell you, though, is that I gathered Severus' body, contained it within a protective sphere, and Disapparated with it to the Burrow, as I felt pretty confident that there wouldn't be any _Mors_ nearby.

My mind was numb, my heart torn asunder, and my soul shattered. I'd just had to kill someone I cared deeply about—on his orders—and something that profound and devastating never goes away. I was trying to compartmentalise everything that had happened, but it was proving to be an insurmountable task.

Arriving at the Burrow, I detected no signs of life. I carefully left the sphere with Snape's body outside while I checked the interior of the house. I placed my rucksack on the kitchen table, which looked spotless even now, and meandered around to see if there was anything amiss. Nothing. Unable to hold my composure any longer, I collapsed on the ratty sofa and buried my face in one of Mum's crocheted pillows, sobbing loud and long.

I cried for everything that had happened, from the rise of Voldemort and the necessity of Snape's covert activities, to the mindless destruction of human life in the wake of the evil tosser's death. Had I followed my natural inclination, I would've remained curled on that sofa for hours, maybe even days, in a dark depression. But I could hear Snape in my head, badgering me to get up and stop feeling sorry for myself, reminding me that people were lost every day, and I was a coward for not fulfilling my promise to end the reign of terror.

So, I got up, even though the ache in my chest caused me to crumple several times before I reached the door. I stepped outside into the grey, overcast light and set out to the orchard with Snape's body in tow.

I gathered the fallen branches that I'd found, built a small pyre, and laid his body atop the kindling. I lit the wood underneath and watched as smoke curled upwards, causing the bare branches to sway in the wintry sky. When Snape's body finally caught fire, there was such a burst of magical energy, it knocked me flat on my arse. I even smiled indulgently, knowing he would've loved to have seen that.

My thoughts sobered as I sat there, beneath the cherry trees, watching the flames consume the man I loved. I could say that now with a fair amount of certainty.

"I love you, Severus," I said aloud to the burning effigy. As if in response, the wind picked up, and several snowflakes landed on my cheeks and nose.

I don't think I stopped crying through it all.

In fact, I know I cried all of the following day as well, because of what I found when I emptied my rucksack. The bugger had been placing things of importance to him in there, the entire time during our travels.

The first item I came across when I stuck my hand inside was the journal I'd seen him writing in while on the train. Upon opening it, I saw _The Dragon Keeper's Survival Guide_ on the title page. I smiled in spite of myself. He must've been writing while I'd been preoccupied with one thing or another, for there were multiple entries, filling almost the entirety of the book. He knew I wouldn't have been able to ask all my questions in time, not before the curse had rendered him mindless, so he'd put a lifetime's worth of memories into a journal within two to three days.

The entries ran the gamut from, _Never meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup_, to _Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses or princes who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is, in its deepest being, something helpless that wants help from us._

Truer words were never spoken.

Interspersed throughout were unique spells, hexes, and what looked like several codes that would grant access to a hidden location where a very special potions-book resided. Thank Zeus, the man was resourceful and left a legacy I could at least search for. I flipped to the last entry, the one I'd spied him writing, and it made me feel lighter.

_Fall in love at least once in your life._

At least I had fulfilled that promise. I smiled and closed the book, to read in full detail later.

Rummaging through the rest of the rucksack's contents, I came up with trinkets he'd apparently pocketed along the way, such as the complimentary shampoo and conditioner from the hotel we'd visited, the mug he'd drunk out of, and the key to the room. He'd even stolen the bathrobe that had hung on the bathroom door. And, of course, two tins of Spam. I shook my head and laughed.

I finally came to the oddly-shaped box I'd seen Severus place in my sack before we'd left France. I shook it, but there was no sound. Slipping my thumbnail under the lid, I pried it open, only to stare in complete shock.

There, in perfect condition, sat a Cauldron cake—just like the ones Mum used to make. It had been a wistful thought when I'd mentioned it what seems like ages ago, but apparently Snape had taken it to heart. Carefully, I lifted the cake out of the container and sat it upon the table, my mouth watering. I grabbed a fork from the silverware drawer and sliced into the decadent chocolate.

The first bite was heavenly! Utter perfection. I was nearly done when I realised I'd cried the entire time I'd been eating the confection. I was torn between savouring the rest and not wishing to eat anymore for fear of losing that little piece of him that I still had left. I've been told people do strange things when loved ones die. Perhaps wanting to save a Cauldron cake forever was my strange thing.

I eventually finished it off, because once the stasis charm had been lifted it would spoil if not eaten. I ended that second evening by sitting in the kitchen and staring at the family clock in the other room until the sun had set.

Fuck!

It just showed how melancholic I was, that I hadn't really seen what I was looking at! Walking closer, I studied the hands of the clock, noting that Percy, Dad, George, Fred, and Ron were all centred on "Lost," as I expected. My picture was firmly on "Home." Ginny, Mum and Bill... Dear Merlin! They all hovered over "Travelling!"

They were still alive!

* * *

They _are_ still alive.

My purpose is now clear, my path lies before me. I will search for clues to their whereabouts and, hopefully, find them alive and well. It's my birthday today, and I have a feeling that between my unnatural good luck and Severus' journal, I'll have my family back where they belong.

Home.

I wish I could tell you that this was the wizarding world I grew up in.

It's not, though, not even close.

But maybe someday, it will be again, and I'll have done my part.

As I promised him.


End file.
